


Kunzite

by MsThunderFrost



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Courting Rituals, Cultural Differences, Dwarf & Hobbit Cultural Differences, Dwarf Courting, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Language of Flowers, Language of Gemstones, M/M, Misunderstandings, Thorin Fails at Courting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 05:30:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18653872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsThunderFrost/pseuds/MsThunderFrost
Summary: Bilbo is uncomfortable with the idea of Thorin lavishing him with expensive jewelry and gifts. Unfortunately, an intregal part of the dwarven courting ritual is braiding beads crafted from rare gemstones and precious metals into their beloved's hair.





	Kunzite

“It’s…nice.” Bilbo says as he stares at the tiny, light pink bead Thorin has placed in his palm. It is altogether too small and delicate, and Bilbo worries his clumsy hands will fumble and shatter the trinket.

Thorin’s brows knit and his expression melts into one that Bilbo cannot quite read, “You hate it.” He reaches to take the bead back, but Bilbo snatches it away, just out of arm’s reach.

“I did not say that.” He says, a bit too firmly. “The craftsmanship is truly magnificent. I just…I fail to understand why you would give something of the sort to _me_.” He clarifies.

The dwarf is silent for a moment, before sputtering, “I-It’s kunzite.”

“Kunzite?” The hobbit clumsily attempts the word, and under any other circumstances Thorin would have laughed at how ridiculous he sounded. Bilbo looks at the stone again, curiously.

“Do you recall how you once attempted to explain to Fili the meaning of flowers, after he gave his betrothed a bouquet of yellow carnations?” Bilbo nods, “Well, gemstones have meanings as well. Kunzite is particularly special-,”

“Thorin, are you quite alright? You look positively feverish.” Bilbo says, reaching up to press the back of his hand to Thorin’s forehead. If possible, Thorin’s blush intensifies tenfold.

Thorin swats at his hand weakly, attempting to back away and stumbling over his own two feet. “Quite alright, Master Baggins. Nothing to be concerned over-,”

“Bilbo.” The hobbit corrects, unintentionally cutting the King off for the second time.

The dwarf swallows hard, before inclining his head slightly in acknowledgement. “Bilbo, yes.”

A long stretch of silence follows. Bilbo is staring at the bead once more, his expression no more promising than it had been several minutes earlier when Thorin had first shoved it into his unprepared hands. It occurs to him that now would be the perfect opportunity to win the hobbit over with his extensive knowledge of the meanings and properties of the various stones that are extracted on a daily basis from the glittering veins of the mountain…but he finds, not for the first time, that his mouth has betrayed him. His tongue feels thick and clumsy in his too-dry mouth, and his brain is not working fast enough to prepare the words that might convince Bilbo to let him braid the beautifully crafted bead into his hair.

It had taken him _weeks_ to decide upon the perfect stone to use as a base for his beloved hobbit’s courting bead. Kunzite was by no means the most visually stunning of gemstones, but then, he did not think that Bilbo would appreciate the extravagancy of diamonds or emeralds—it was the meaning behind the stone, a meaning that would have been common knowledge among the dwarrows (just as all hobbits seemed to know the language of flowers), that bade him pause. The stone is associated with divine love, love that is unalterable, unquestionable, and unshakeable. Everything that Thorin had felt for Bilbo ever since his head was forcibly yanked out of his ass and he saw, for the first time, everything that the hobbit had to offer his company, their quest…and him.

Perhaps, if he’d spent even a fraction of that time considering that a colorful hunk of rock might not mean nearly as much to a hobbit as a bouquet of colorful, allergy-inducing petals, he would have scrapped the idea and paid a maid in Laketown a handful of gold coins for a bouquet of Bilbo’s favorite flowers…

Eventually, when it seems as though Thorin has nothing more to say on the matter, Bilbo slips the bead into the pocket of his waistcoat for safekeeping. He softly pats the bulge that it leaves a few times in quick succession, and Thorin thinks that his heart may have stopped beating for a moment because he has no idea what Bilbo’s actions mean. Acceptance would have been a formal invitation to braid the bead into his beloved’s hair, rejection returning the bead to its crafter. To hold onto the bed…it leaves Thorin in a state of limbo, and he is quick to find that he does not like the feeling of not knowing. He opens his mouth to speak, but once again finds that the words refuse to come, and so he stands there, gaping like a fish out of water.

“Are you sure that you are quite alright, Thorin?” Bilbo asks, though thankfully he does not move to try and test the warmth of the King’s face once more.

Thorin clears his throat loudly, glaring when the sudden sound attracts the unwanted attention of a few nearby miners. “Quite.”

Bilbo is hardly convinced, “I would advise you speak with Oin, anyhow. The elven delegation from Mirkwood will arrive in three days’ time, and you mustn’t allow Thranduil the satisfaction of seeing you at anything less than your best.” He says.

“Of course.” Thorin says, before making a hasty retreat toward his throne room. He leaves Bilbo standing there, looking for all the world like a small child who’d just lost their parent in the hustle and bustle of a crowded market.

“How very strange.” He murmurs, patting the bead in his pocket once more.

**-0-0-0-**

“Well? What did you say? What did you say?” He is attacked in the hallway by Fili and Kili, the younger brother’s hands immediately burying themselves in the mess of golden brown curls atop his head in search of…something. “…I don’t feel it.”

Fili looks crestfallen, “We were so sure that you returned his feelings…How could you turn him down, Bilbo?” He asks, Kili nodding his head in agreement.

Bilbo purses his lips, “You two aren’t making the slightest bit of sense.” He says, gently detangling Kili from his hair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I certainly haven’t “turned anyone down”, as you say.”

“Then where is Uncle’s bead?” Kili asks, “The old fart is such a traditionalist, I’d have thought he’d want to braid it into your hair himself.” He continues, his voice soft with wonder.

Fili nods, “Courting beads are a symbol of pride for our people. Dwarves expect their mates to display them prominently to let all others know that they are taken.” He adds, “I crafted Tintalle’s out of bloodstone, which embodies courage and nobility.”

“I gave Tintalle one carved from malachite, which symbolizes protection.” Kili says, “It took weeks of sorting through various geodes and rough stones ‘til I found the perfect fit.”

Bilbo rests a hand over his pocket, “What does…kunzite mean?”

Fili and Kili’s eyes lit up, and they share a knowing glance. “I didn’t think Uncle such a sap.”

“That’s thirty gold coins, Kee.” Fili says, holding out his hand and waggling his fingers. Kili rolls his eyes and drops a small satchel of coins into his hand.

It is Kili who all-too-happily explains the meaning of the odd little trinket that Thorin had bequeathed him earlier. Quite simply put, kunzite means love—both for oneself and for others. The stone is brimming with energy and fills the bearer with new life and purpose. The two are quick to assure him that it is an excellent choice for a courting bead, and that Thorin had, undoubtedly, put a great deal of thought into its crafting. Bilbo draws the bead out of his pocket with trembling fingers, looking it over with new eyes. Fili points out the markings carefully etched onto the beads curved surface—runes symbolizing the line of Durin. Kili points out that the stone’s soft, pink hue compliments the natural ruddiness of his skin.

He stares down at the bead, a fluttering of guilt in his chest arising from the knowledge that Thorin had put so much effort into crafting what he thought was a perfect gift…and still not feeling a damn thing for it. It isn’t that he does not wish to be courted by the King under the Mountain, no. It is more that the thought of adorning himself in the King’s jewels—for he hasn’t the slightest how expensive, or how rare, this sliver of gemstone is—makes him feel as though he were a “kept boy”, that he is nothing more than a beautiful ornament to decorate the King’s side. He thinks of all of the gold and jewels that had once been part of Smaug’s hoard and wonders whether previous King’s had dressed their beloveds in such extravagant finery.

If Fili and Kili notice his concern, they do not comment upon it. Instead, Kili returns to running his fingers through Bilbo’s hair, mumbling under his breath about how the length will make it rather difficult to braid effectively. His scalp burns lightly as Fili, too, takes a handful of hair and tugs, but he is too wrapped up in staring at the bead to say anything.

It would be most improper to turn Thorin down simply because he does not like the gift, Bilbo reasons. After all, even if Tintalle had cried for _several_ hours after Fili had given her the yellow carnations (really, any fool could have told him to look up the meaning of the flowers, instead of reasoning that their beloved was pretty, the flowers were pretty, and one plus one equals two…), she’d still accepted Fili’s courting bead—even if adorning one’s hair with beads had a completely different cultural significance for the elves. She did it because she loved him.

“Wait a minute.” Kili says, dark eyes flickering to the bead in panic. “Why was that in your pocket? If you accepted Uncle’s offer, the bead should be in your hair-,”

Bilbo sighs, “I hadn’t realized that that was what the bead was, at the time. Though I suppose that is the only explanation that makes a lick of sense.” He rolls the bead between his fingers, “Thorin just kind of…thrust it into my hand and then stared at me with this blank expression.”

Fili snorts at that, “He’s been practicing this big, elaborate speech in front of his mirror. I walked in one him the other night and he had the nerve to throw a _vase_ at my head.”

Kili rolls his eyes, “Perhaps you should learn the fine art of ‘knocking’, Fee.”

“He had summoned me! Usually, when you send a servant to fetch someone, there is an understanding that they will _arrive_ at some point.” Fili says exasperatedly.

Bilbo listens to them poke fun at one another for a moment longer, before asking, “So, by not letting Thorin braid the bead into my hair, did I…reject him, somehow?” He cannot keep the worry from coloring his tone.

Fili shakes his head, “Not necessarily. The only way to truly reject an offer of courtship would be to return the bead. What you did, well…” he rubs the back of his neck, eyes flickering up to the ceiling. “I guess it would kind of be equivalent to saying, “let me think about it”.”

“Which Uncle probably isn’t taking all that well.” Kili helpfully supplies. “You see, when a dwarf finds their One, it’s like they just kinda… _know_. Like a switch got flipped inside of them. There’s never been a case of Ones not being a mutual thing, so to not just accept outright-,”

Bilbo’s brows knit together in confusion, “What’s a One?”

Fili and Kili share another look, “You mean you really don’t know?” Kili asks.

“Would I be looking at you, this confused, if I did?”

Apparently, there is a bevy of literature written about the dwarven one. The men call them ‘soulmates’—two beings (or, on the rare occasions, more) destined to be together. Nothing in the world is strong enough to keep them apart. On the rare occasion that a dwarf has a One belonging to another race, the very stars will align to ensure that their paths somehow cross. For instance, if Fili and Kili had not taken part in the quest to reclaim Erebor, they would not have been captured in Mirkwood and met the dazzling young elf who was all too willing to aid the dwarves in their escape should it anger her dear father, who’d been attempting to convince her that Elladan would be an advantageous match for several months. Or how Gandalf had chosen _him_ , of all the hobbits in the Shire, to be the fourteenth member of their company.

Now, Bilbo did not necessarily believe in divine providence, but he _did_ recall how flustered and out of sorts Thorin had appeared when he’d presented him with the bead and Bilbo had seemed…remarkably underwhelmed. Perhaps, if dwarves believed that their relationships were written in the stars and that the very forces of nature would conspire to bring them together, no matter how far apart life might otherwise lead them, it made sense that Thorin was horrified by the way that Bilbo reacted. He feels bad, and even if he’s not completely sold on the idea of walking around with Thorin’s brand on him for all to see, he loves the dwarf and he supposes that part of loving someone is making a few concessions on their behalf every now and then.

He sighs, “When your Uncle is finished with his meeting, would you ask him to meet me in my chambers? It seems…It would seem as if we need to have a talk.” Kili lets out a rather undignified squeal.

“Can we call you ‘Uncle’? Can we? Can we? _Please_.” Nobody should be able to speak so quickly. Its almost inhumane, and it grates on his nerves like all else.

“Please, just…ask him?” He does not stick around to wait for the answer, taking off in the direction of his chambers. It would seem as if he had much to consider.

**-0-0-0-**

It had taken quite a bit of convincing to get Thorin to come, but when Fili and Kili had assured him that Bilbo was simply uneducated regarding dwarven courting customs and had not meant any slight by pocketing the bead, he figured it unlikely he could cause himself further embarrassment by humoring the hobbit one more time. Bilbo is turning the bead over and over in his fingers again, and when he sees Thorin, he offers him a sort of half-smile and holds it out to him in offering. Thorin barely has time to register the meaning of Bilbo’s act, to realize that, after everything, Bilbo was _actually_ about to reject him…when the hobbit flushes a beautiful crimson and asks him, in choppy Khuzdul, to braid it into his hair.

“I’ve washed my hair. It’s a bit easier to handle when its wet.” He says, and even if he is not thrilled by the idea of the bead, glittering and bright in his hair, he must admit that Thorin’s hands on his head feel _good_.

Thorin is smiling, eyeing his handiwork appreciatively. “It is just as beautiful as I’d thought it would be…I will dedicate my life to making you the happiest hobbit in all of Middle-Earth, Bilbo, I swear it. If I must, I will spend my entire life proving my devotion to you.”

For a moment, he considers whether now would be a good time to voice his reservations to Thorin, to say that he does not need to be regaled in expensive finery—the courting rituals of the dwarves, though beautiful and deserving of respect, do not hold the same meaning for him. “Thorin…”

“Yes, Uzfakuh?” The meaning of the word is not lost upon Bilbo, and he shudders, any resolve he might have had flowing out of him like water.

He takes his new braid and presses a kiss to the bed which now adorns his hair, deciding upon a simple, “I love you,” and hoping it conveys all that his words cannot.

Thorin’s grin brightens, “I love you, too.”


End file.
